The First Hero
by iloveLuLu
Summary: When the Mice have a visitor from Mars Charley is anxious to make a good impression. It doesn't help that this mouse means a lot to her boys. Response to Inuficcrzy 'The Firsts' Quotes Challenge. Do not own any recognisable names, characters or songs


Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Biker Mice From Mars franchise, and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is just for fun.

As everyone is aware this story is a response to the one and only inuficcrzy BMFM Quotes challenge, if you haven't already read hers then you MUST because her stories are awesome!

Rating: K+

The First Hero

Charley recalled her first meeting with her old flame's mother with complete clarity.

They had dated for about six months before she had finally given in, and agreed to meet his family. She hadn't wanted to. But her meeting his mother meant a lot to Jack; so naturally, it meant a lot to Charley that this woman liked her. As cliché as it sounded, she had never loved anyone like she really and truly had loved Jack. And as much as Vinnie might not like it, she really would have done anything for Jack MacCyber.

Jack, to his credit, had been really sweet about the whole affair and had assured her that of course, of course, his mother would love her.

"What's not to love?" He had asked, lightly kissing her forehead, his beard rough against her skin. She hadn't answered, just smiled tightly, dressed nicely, and tried to drink tea daintily. She had always hated tea.

Charley could also describe with complete clarity the emotion she had felt at meeting her old flame's mother. Complete terror.

Jack's mother was his hero, or heroine. This was his personal version of _Wonder Woman_, the woman that no other female could possibly measure up to. And thus, this was why Charley had been terrified of meeting her. Suppose Jack's mother didn't approve? Or worse, what if, by having both women side by side, Jack realised just how far Charley fell short of perfection? What if he then changed his mind?

And so the irrational fears continued. Each new fear feeding and spiralling off the one before it. But Jack had meant so much to Charley, that if he needed his mother to like her, then she would do whatever it took to make that happen.

Charley had spoken softly and only when replying to a direct question, caught between inner turmoil, agonisingly wondering if Jack's mother would think her utterly boring, frightfully stupid or unbelievably rude and aloof. Or whatever other adjectives that proper English women use when evaluating their son's prospective other. She had gulped tea, choked twice and tried to keep hiccups on the down low. The result was a tea party where the revered Mrs. MacCyber thought her son had very peculiar taste in women, with the Miss Davidson uttering barely three words in a row, and the rest of the time honking, snorting and making all kind of noises usually associated with barnyard inhabitants. Charley was sure the grand dame winced more obviously with each escaping hiccup. Needless to say the interview was a complete disaster. Charley felt sure that if she had looked up 'mortification' in the dictionary, she would find an uncanny description of the tea party. She had never drunk tea since.

And she had remained terrified of seeing the woman ever again. Terrified. That was 'terrified' with a capital 'T'.

This had, of course, been before she had met three mice that had frequently caused her to question her sanity. And taught her the true meaning of fear. In the time since meeting her furry trio she had been kidnapped and used as bait more times than she cared to remember, skydived frequently and usually without a parachute. She had been shot at, travelled to the North Pole, and even Mars each occasion earning itself a higher rating on her scale '1 to Fear.'

Charley smiled slightly as placed the wrenches back in their correct places. Thinking back now, she wondered briefly why she bothered to get nervous over something as trivial as meeting-the-partner's-parents, when nerves could be much better spent on occasions like this...

The familiar knot of anxiety in her stomach was present again. But this time it was different. It wasn't the parents that she was meeting. Modo had made it quite clear that this creature was not his parent.

"Actually, think we might even be a little more responsible than he is," Throttle had agreed, chuckling softly in his husky tone. "Well, except for Vincent, that is."

Modo had nodded. "They do share a lotta similarities, though. Both reckless,"

"Adrenaline junkies," Throttle added

"And good with the ladies."

Throttle's eyebrows peeked over his dark shades at Modo's last comment. "Okay, they think they're good with the ladies." Modo amended.

Throttle just shook his head, still chuckling with amusement.

Okay, Charley had thought then, definitely not their parent. But the anxious knot in her stomach did not lessen any. No, this time it was in response to the unspoken description that each of the guys had used when talking about this being.

Hero.

There weren't many mortal beings that her guys stood in awe of in the great cosmos. And one of these rare creatures was standing in her kitchenette right now.

And she had no idea what she ought to say, or do. Which was in part why she had slipped out into the garage to hide now.

She had had no idea what she could possibly have to say to the mouse that was their undeniable idol, the one mouse that topped Vinnie's 'My Hero List,' though admittedly, Vinnie rated himself a close second.

Stoker, freedom fighter extraordinaire.

And if half of what her guys had told her about this mouse was true, 'hero' wasn't an exaggeration. This was the mouse that had single-handedly formed and led the resistance which had, by all accounts, been the last hope for Mars. Not to mention had been all that stood between Mars' destruction and the Plutarkian victory. Charley had no trouble imagining that how he could have lead the Martian resistance with little trouble. When Stoker spoke, he commanded all attention. He drew people in and held their attention. The mouse had charm and charisma. And a disarming smile that he used to perfection.

But as funny as it sounded, this wasn't the reason Charley was out hiding in her garage. It was the fact that this mouse meant so much to her boys. And if possible, she loved her furry guys more than she had loved MacCyber, so it was even more important to her that Stoker like her. Given her track record with these kind of interviews, Charley had deemed it better for all and especially her dignity that she retreat for a moment to pull herself together. So she had said a very brief hello, and murmured something about having to let a client know their car was ready, and bolted.

Glancing at her watch, (yes she still had a Disney Mickey Mouse watch, it was a never ending source of amusement to see her guys pained faces when they saw it. Apparently Mickey Mouse was an intergalactic embarrassment to mice everywhere) she had escaped over an hour and half ago. She really should go back.

But, what if she said something stupid, what if Stoker didn't like her? What if –

But that last thought was cut off with the scrape of the garage door opening.

Squeaking like, well a mouse, she ducked down behind the tool cabinets. Peaking underneath she saw two grey boots amble closer. Really, she knew better than to hide from them, they could track her scent after all.

"Charley-ma'am?" Modo's face peered round the cabinet to the human girl sitting on the cold garage floor with her knees drawn up to her chin. "What are you doin' down there?"

"Um, I dropped something."

Modo dropped down beside her. "What was it?" he asked scanning the floor, and hiding a smile as he made sure he didn't look at her bright red face.

"Mmm, what?"

Modo chuckled softly and grabbed Charley's hands in his own. The cool metal was soothing against her flesh.

"Why are you hiding out here? Stoke thinks it's something he said."

Her startled green eyes flashed to his face, "Why would he think that?"

Modo didn't answer immediately, just shrugged one shoulder. "Guess he was worried you wouldn't like him." Charley shook her head in confusion.

"Why on earth wouldn't _I_ like him? That's just crazy." She shook her head again.

Modo held her eyes and hands fast, "Is it?"

She didn't respond, but just nodded, fairly sure they weren't just talking about Stoker now.

"Okay. You know, Charley-ma'am, I think you and Stoke are really going to get along. You should watch him handle Vinnie. It's beautiful."

She nodded again. That little tiny rational part of her brain was screaming loudly that Modo was right and that really she was being silly. Still, one irrational fear was bubbling in her head. Tugging on Modo's arm she had to ask: "But Modo," she swallowed nervously, "what if I get hiccups?"

Modo blinked at her. Then threw his head back and laughed. Taking her elbow firmly in his grasp he guided her back towards the kitchen, "Charley, if you get hiccups, I promise that I will do something much more embarrassing to distract Stoker's attention. Sound okay?"

Charley tried to smile. The kitchen loomed so much closer from this side of the tool cabinet.

"Well there she is! I was starting to think it was something Vinnie had said." Stoker grinned as they re-entered the kitchen.

Vinnie scowled darkly at the older mouse. "I didn't say anything this time."

"Nah, Charley-girl doesn't often take offense to things we say. Aint that right babe?" Throttle replied taking a healthy swig from the root beer in his hand.

"No, but that doesn't let you guys off the hook next time you're all jerks." She said, trying to coax her voice back to its normal volume.

"And are you jerks often?" Stoker asked, one eyebrow raised. The other three mice looked slightly abashed and suddenly developed a pressing need to study their boots.

"They don't mean to be." Charley answered quickly. Stoker's lips twitched. "Last time Vin sang to make it up to me." She volunteered with a shy grin at the dark brown furred mouse.

Stoker let out a low whistle "Wow, what had you done to deserve that?"

"Hey, enough with the jokes at my ego's expense. And I'll have you know, I am an excellent singer." Vinnie puffed his chest, and buffed his nails on his chest as if to emphasise the point.

"Relax kid; I'm just messin' with ya. Rimfire's not here or he'd be copping the same ribbing. Only he'd be dishin' it back. Maybe he can give you some pointers?" Stoker grinned lopsidedly at Vinnie, before swinging back around to Charley, "So really, what did he sing? Cotton-Eyed Joe?"

Charley laughed nervously feeling awkward and again having no idea what to say to fill the momentary pause.

"Did you want something to drink? I can make some tea?" she blurted out, her mouth disconnecting with her brain in her panic.

"What? Why?" Vinnie asked bewildered. Charley had never offered any of that nasty stuff to them before.

"Because that's what polite people offer. If you had even a hint of manners, you would know this, knucklehead." Stoker responded. He was leaning his hip against a chair, his arms folded across his chest. Turning to Charley he brought a hand to the side of his face as if to tell her some deep dark and sordid secret, but instead whispered loudly, "These guys may be as strong as they come, but they're still as smart and sophisticated as a herd of rabid donkeys."

"We heard that." Vinnie muttered petulantly.

"I meant you to."

"You'll regret that, Old Timer."

"Yeah, you keep saying this, but you continue to let your mouth outperform your body." Then turning his attention back to Charley Stoker leaned over and took her hand in both of his. "Please don't bother with the tea, darlin'." He had winked at her then, "Never could stand the stuff."

And right then, Charley decided she liked this mouse.

If the guys ever did end up going back to Mars, she knew that they would at least be in safe hands. Though, in the meanwhile, she was going to pull Stoker aside and learn exactly how to give that glare that kept all three of the big lummoxes inline. Might even get them to do their own laundry. Well, she thought wryly, let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet.

And, as a little impish gleam sparkled in her eyes, she realised she had one last task before the end of Stoker's visit. Setting down the root beer she had been sipping, she leaned back in her chair and as convincingly as she could, gulped out:

"Hic-cup."

Balls in your court Modo, she thought, winking at the grey mouse.


End file.
